Solace
by Super Sheba
Summary: Because perhaps they both need each other more than they realize. Klavier/Ema


**Solace**

She's never been more afraid in her life. She hasn't seen her sister in 10 years, and the approaching day that she thought would fill her with more joy than she has felt in years is leaving an emptiness within her as she crosses out the boxes on the calendar with a red pen.

As she pushes away from her desk to go to lunch, the hollow feeling in her stomach does not disappear, and she pulls her lab coat over her shoulders. It is a cold day with a grey sky threatening to let loose torrents of rain. She wonders whether she is shivering from the cold or from the fear that has settled itself in her heart.

When she arrives at the small diner where she likes to get lunch (they have the most AMAZING burgers) she sees someone at another table dining and turns around (of course he won't recognize her in a lab coat, she tells herself, everyone has them) to hide her presence from him.

Waiting for her order leaves Ema with too much time to think, for which she is in no way grateful, and she pulls out a pen. She scribbles down words—apologies, pleas for forgiveness, reminders that sisters should always love each other through thick and thin—onto the napkin. Her words look no better on that crumpled napkin spotted with drops of coffee than they would sound coming from her mouth. She feels pathetic, defeated.

She growls in frustration and throws the napkin forcefully at the nearest wall.

Before he even speaks she can feel his presence, and as he hovers over her she can feel his warm breath against the back of her neck.

"Meine Detektivin," he whispers into her ear. "I don't think that was very nice at all! What did that poor wall ever do to you?"

She sends him a glare and looks directly into his eyes.

"It existed." she replies, her response far colder than she had been intending.

"Oh, meine Fräulein, did it just get colder in here?" he asks her, a small glint of amusement in his eyes.

At least she is talking to him.

"Look, Prosecutor Gavin!" Ema forced out, attempting to reign in her terrible mood. "Why don't you just cut the crap? Can't you see I'm busy here?"

He pulls out the chair opposite hers and gazes into her eyes with a tenderness to which she is not accustomed.

"I'm hurt, Detective!" he tells her, blowing at his hand as though it has been burned.

"Klavier," she spits out as she loses her composure. "You don't belong here. Why don't you just leave?"

She takes out her anger on the table, beating it with her fist. He slides his hand across the table gently to pull her delicate hands into his own.

"Because." he answers her seriously, another side of him that Ema thinks she has never seen before. "When one of the people in my squad is upset, is it not my job to help them?"

"It's none of your business." She says curtly as she tries to free her hands from his grasp. Although his touch is tender, it is determined.

"Well, Ema," he explains, rubbing his thumb gently across the back of her palm. "When one of my detectives is upset, _she_ can't do her work properly and _she_ could harm an investigation. There, are you happy now? It is my business."

He places emphasis on the "she."

She frowns, but she knows what he is saying is true, and she begins grumbling to herself.

Part of her feels disrespected because he has used her first name when they are not friends, but the other part of her welcomes the lack of formality. Because when the formalities disappear, so does the awkwardness and the pretenses that lie in their positions as head prosecutor and homicide detective.

And deep down, she is relieved, because for the last ten years she has felt terribly lonely and isolated.

He is breaking down the wall between them, and although his methods are rather unorthodox, he is showing her that he cares.

She knows that her sister loves her and that Jake Marshall and Mr. Wright care about her too, but they are never there when she needs them.

Because even though they are there, they are not there on a daily basis. Their visits come and go.

She hates to admit it, but each time he greets her flirtatiously enough to annoy her, she is happy, because he cares enough about her to push her buttons.

"It's about her, isn't it?" he queries although he already knows the answer.

"Wh—what makes you think that?" she stammers as she finds her eyes staring at the small circular table as though it is highly interesting.

"Ema, I've seen your calendar." He answers her firmly, but his never voice grows loud despite his mounting frustration.

It is so difficult for him to watch her struggle emotionally while she pretends that she does not want or need help. Usually he is the bystander, subtly moving towards her without her notice but still unable to grasp her confidence.

But today he has a hammer, and he is breaking through that wall one gentle hit at a time. He wants to slowly demolish that wall so that when she is ready, she will tell him why her sweet smile never reaches her eyes.

"She'll love you anyway, you know." he continues as he accepts their coffees from the waitress.

She takes a deep sip from the creamy ceramic mug. She scarcely acknowledges that she has heard him.

"It's terrible, you know?" she muses, a cynical look overtaking her features. "You try really hard to save someone, but no matter what you do, they still end up screwed. If I hadn't been there then this never would have happened. I can't even keep the promise I made her."

"This isn't your fault," he tells her as he scoots his chair closer to hers.

"You say that, but you don't have a clue in hell." she whispers as tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. "I feel so worthless."

"Fräulein," he utters a bit bitterly. "Have you forgotten that I prosecuted both cases that put my brother on death row because he was convicted on two murder charges?"

She is silent for a moment, and realizes that perhaps deep down they yearn for the same thing.

She buries her face in his chest and begins to sob. She has removed the mask of the fearless, strong young woman that she puts on each day. She is vulnerable and bare in front of him, but her nakedness is not uncomfortable.

He strokes her soft, brown hair as he pulls her into an embrace.

It is undignified, embarrassing, against the rules. But she is tired of wandering aimlessly so that she can lose herself in the drudgery of every day life. She is exhausted, and she is sick of running away from her problems.

And his hands are smooth and soft, his touch gentle. His embrace is warm and welcoming, his voice soothing.

And when he holds her, he wants nothing in return. He only wants to give her warmth.

And warmth is what she is seeking.

And somehow, when both of them have removed their masks, they find that maybe they are not so different after all, and that perhaps they need each other more than they know.

When she has stopped crying, he gives her hand a gentle kiss and rises from his seat.

"Good-bye, ma cherie." he utters as she looks into his eyes.

She giggles a bit at his sudden use of a language other than German.

They do not say anymore, and they do not make any promises, but she knows that tomorrow when she arrives at that little restaurant on the street corner, he will be waiting for her at that little round table for two.


End file.
